


Safe and Sound

by yesthankyouforyourinput



Category: BBC Sherlock, Hunger Games - Fandom, Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, Hunger Games, Johnlock - Freeform, Light Smut, M/M, Smut, There is too much plot, sorry for the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesthankyouforyourinput/pseuds/yesthankyouforyourinput
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“In celebration of the 125th Annual Hunger Games, an alteration shall be made for this year's quarter quell.” it read, complete with subtitles for those hard of hearing. “Two tributes from each gender group will be reaped. In the event of a name being reaped twice, another tribute shall be reaped. Four tributes will be sent forward from each district. May the odds be ever in your favour.”  I froze and made eye contact with John Watson, the closest thing to me. The probability of him being reaped was small, but still there. It was agonizing, watching the worry in his eyes. My heart rate sped up and sent chills down my spine. The name card was unfolded and the tape was pulled back. “John Hamish Watson.” A sudden wave of panic hit me and I pushed forward in the crowd, too distraught to notice the second card being drawn. “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” I yelled, battling against a peacekeeper to stop John from leaving the crowd. “Sherlock Holmes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this to wattpad, but after the general 'what even is wattpad' air about it, I decided to post it on here too. This is my first work, both on this website and on wattpad (Though I will use this more). Also, if you have any criticism, please don't hesitate to say - but be nice, I'm fragile. Also thank you I love you bye.

All around stood the sunken eyed children, each dressed in their versions of Sunday best. Few actually wore store bought clothes. But the majority were clad in rags sewn together to represent some form of dress or suit. Everyone stood in the square, rows upon rows of children between thirteen and eighteen. Females stood on one side, males on the other, separated by a line of peacekeepers. As always, the capitol was trying to promote freedom by cramming us into this tiny square with our shoulders touching and no personal space. They were the most hypocritical, only paying attention to the wealthier districts that specialised in weaponry manufacture and hand to hand combat. Those districts received hospitality, running water, easily accessible food and medicine. We were stuck with fighting for our lives trading possessions for food at the local marketplace. But it was what we had become accustomed to in district 13. The lowest district on the hierarchy. Next to no wealth. We had to rely on local chemists and doctors to survive with a disease or injury. And now we were stood, all two thousand of us, with our parents and other district residents behind a barrier, keeping them away from us to prevent some sort of rebellion.

 

A collective breath was held when Effie Trinkett plunged her hand into the large bowl containing every teenage female's name in the district. She drew out a card, and just before she removed the tape, was cut off by a loud static noise. A projected message was shown on the wall of the town hall. “In celebration of the 125th Annual Hunger Games, an alteration shall be made for this year's quarter quell.” it read, complete with subtitles for those hard of hearing. It was well known that most men from our district had lost their hearing down in the mines due to explosions and pressure. “Two tributes from each gender group will be reaped. In the event of a name being reaped twice, another tribute shall be reaped. Four tributes will be sent forward from each district. May the odds be ever in your favour.” The message on the screen flickered and disappeared, causing everyone in the reaping to hold a breath and feel their blood run cold. Effie placed the name card back in the bowl and shuffled the cards around slightly. She removed her hand and held it behind her back. “After that sudden turn of events, I'm sure you will all be glad to know that you have four tributes to be reaped this year. Oh, how exciting it is!” she said gleefully, showing off that sickeningly white smile. Without any further hesitation, she plunged her hand back into the bowl and retrieved a card. She pulled the black tape back, torturing each person in the crowd. “Sally Donovan.” she called into the microphone, watching each head turn to one girl of sixteen years old. She was one of the wealthier people in the district, with a family of lawyers. Everyone watched as her smile dropped and her eyes widened. A peacekeeper marched her towards the stage and she simply stood, shaking like a leaf in the breeze. Effie greeted her and shook her hand, offering her another one of those blinding smiles. The process was repeated for the second female, Sarah Sawyer. Who was orphaned at the age seven, so had nobody to leave behind. Nobody to say goodbye to in the communication rooms. Then, Effie drew a card up out of the male bowl. I froze and made eye contact with John Watson, the closest thing to me. The probability of him being reaped was small, but still there. It was agonizing, watching the worry in his eyes. My heart rate sped up and sent chills down my spine. The name card was unfolded and the tape was pulled back. “John Hamish Watson.” She called. John's eyes closed slowly and he stepped forward. A sudden wave of panic hit me and I pushed forward in the crowd, too distraught to notice the second card being drawn. “I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!” I yelled, battling against a peacekeeper to stop John from leaving the crowd. “Sherlock Holmes.” I was pushed forward by a peacekeeper and lead to the stage beside John. I took his hand and squeezed it, keeping it close out of the fear of losing him if I let go. I remained silent when he was pulled up onto the stage, dismissing Effie's question about the relationship between the two. She repeated herself, obviously trying to look good in front of the large audience and few cameras broadcasting onto live television. “Are the two of you close friends?” she repeated, snapping me out of my angry, unfocused state. I nodded and released John's hand. “Close.” I whispered into the microphone. I listened half heartedly to Effie's further speech, already forming an elaborate plan to keep John alive in the games.

“And now our tributes have been reaped for this year's games, you may all form an orderly queue to exit the square and return to your homes. Make sure you tune in to watch the games in two weeks. Sponsors are welcomed, and may the odds be ever in your favour. Happy Hunger Games!” she said into the microphone before ushering Sally, Sarah, John and I into separate rooms, where we would each say goodbye to our families and friends. I longed to go into the room next door, to comfort John, hold him close and tell him everything would be alright. But Mycroft was due to enter the room soon, and he was my key to keeping John safe and alive.

 

Mycroft knocked three times on the door and entered, slamming the door behind him and sitting down on the plasic chair beside mine. I turned to him and pleaded to him with my eyes. He knew my gaze as one I would use only in the most desperate situation. “I need you to keep him alive, Mycroft. Do anything. I don't care if it impacts on my own survival. Kill me if need be. I just need him out of the games alive.” My tone was sharp but the desperation, that was usually concealed behind layers of an unaffected and emotionless façade, was blatantly evident. Mycroft, as always, picked up on this and his features softened. He let out a soft sigh as he did when we were children and I had made a mistake and looked up at me. He noticed the panic, of course he knew what I felt for John. John was all I had, I guess I loved him in a way. It was the one thing I needed him to do for me. “Sherlock, I do not wish to kill you, and I cannot help if John is killed by another tribute, but if he is in need of necessities I will supply him with them. I can also toy with the features put in by the gamemakers. If they plan to move him using fire, flood or anything else that may harm him, I will stop it.” he said, in the most sincere voice I have ever heard from him. I nodded my thanks to him and shook his hand. He was sweating more than usual, but refused to show his fear. I offered him a slight smile and watched him leave, we were never close enough for a brief hug, not even when I would be sent to my death in an arena full of bloodthirsty teenagers, each with the same intention. Through the wall, I could still hear Harry Watson crying, presumably in John's arms.

 

If I wanted, I could have leaned back in my chair, put my head against the wall and listened to John's goodbyes. I decided against this, however, because this was John's alone time with his sister and he needed privacy. John would hate to know that I was listening. Instead, I opted to stay in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the wall with no intention of moving. I let my mind wander to the times I'd sit in my room listening to the screams of the families who had lost their children. I'd watch the games and see people I would normally see in the streets and give no second glance. I remember giving one of them a small amount of the bread I was eating because they looked like they were starving. I had no idea that in a month from then they would be one of the first to die in the arena, one of the first cannons to sound. She was called Jennifer, a quiet girl with no intentions of hurting anyone. It was obvious she wouldn't last long, and I felt terrible for her friends and family who held her dear. John Watson was the complete opposite, his family was well known in the military and the addiction to adrenaline and action ran in his blood. His father was a soldier, Jack Watson. A powerful man, the ability to intimidate anyone, yet he was a nice man. He held John and Harry close to his heart and refused to allow them to be hurt.

 

I was brought out of his train of thought by a firm knock on the door. Jack was stood there in a stance that was cleverly positioned to make him seem unaffected, a trick he had perfected in the military. Smiling gently, I gestured for him to open the door and make his entrance. I stood up to shake his hand and sighed heavily. “Jack, I am sorry. I tried to volunteer for him, but it didn't work. Forgive me.” My tone was every bit as desperate as it had been with Mycroft. I needed to let Jack know that I had at least tried to keep John out of the dreadful kill-fest. The arena was similar to the battlefield, and Jack tried to assure me that John would thrive there. That his boy would come out of there a victor with me by his side. He said that if anyone was there to change the Capitol's rules it was John Watson. My response was a nod, a simple nod because I knew Jack was right. John would be excellent, he would outsmart the rest and survive. He was John. He had to. My goodbye was strained and pathetic, seemingly unable to find the words to apologise once again. I bid him a sad farewell and watched him exit my room and turn the corner to enter John's. The conversation in there was similar. John would win because he was strong.


	2. Chapter 2

Out of all the things I assumed I would be, travelsick was not one of them. Shortly after we were given time to say our goodbyes to our loved ones (Or in my case, my insufferable yet sorely missed older brother and John's father) we were ushered out of the rooms and taken to a part of the district that wasn't usually seen by people. The train station was not a place I had been to before, I wasn't even aware it existed. Well, of course it must have. Tributes needed a way to get to the Capitol. The train we boarded was grand, luxury in a way I never thought possible. It seemed like the finest materials in Panem were covering the sofas, the table, even the curtains were patterned. 'Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.' God, that made me sick. Panem meant nothing, not Panem as a nation. The Capitol was everything to them, they had all the riches, they had all the money and the power. Our tiny lives didn't count at all, each district was as powerless as the next, excluding one and two. They actually liked the Capitol. Deranged, the lot of them. Effie had her own cabin, gold and mahogany covering every inch of furniture. It hurt to go in there, so I decided to stay well away.

The travelsickness was never something I expected, mainly because I had no desire to travel, and no money to get out of the district anyway. I learned a little too late that it was better to look out of a window and remain still, but I managed to keep it in. When John noticed my slight change in expression and position, he got closer to me. He hadn't said anything since the reaping and I assumed that he didn't want to talk. He was a solitary person with a moderately high opinion of himself. I assumed it was because he didn't want me to volunteer for him because he thought he could do it, but under closer inspection, he was as terrified as I was. His shoulders were shaking as he sat beside me, knees pulled up to his chest in a desperate attempt at protecting himself. My protective instinct took over and I wrapped an arm around him, bringing him into my chest so I could keep him close. Keep his thoughts as far away from their game as possible. He remained quiet, sometimes looking up at me like he had intentions of speaking to me but then sighed and looked back down again. I cleared my throat quietly and sighed. “I apologise for trying to volunteer in your place. I was just trying to keep you alive, away from this-...” I cut myself off in fear of saying too much or accidentally saying something that would affend him, and looked down at John, who now met my eye. His face was burned into my memory, branded there forever under a section of things he never wanted to see again for as long as he lived. The fear on John's face was strong, unbelievable even. “I understand if you don't want to talk to me, I probably offended you. Your family is strong and you don't need to be replaced by a lanky idiot such as myself, but you're all I have, John. I would do anything-... Absolutely anything in what little power I have to keep you from dying out there.” John's expression had turned to one of something similar to pain. A small tear ran down his cheek, which I quickly removed. He wasn't allowed to cry. That's what his father said. If John cried, people would think he was weak and target him. They couldn't be more wrong. John was strong, a warrior at heart. 

The voice that came from beside my chest was one I would never forget, a broken sounding voice that hit me like a wave, stabbing at me like a thousand knives, each with the intention of tearing me apart, ripping me to shreds and slicing me until there was nothing left. So much meaning in those few simple words. “Sherlock, I'm scared.” John's trembling was more forceful now, more violent against me. I brought him closer to my chest, just holding him wordlessly, letting him know that I was there, letting him know I would keep his heart beating for as long as I could. The doors opened to the dining carriage of the train, showing the table piled so high with food that it was a wonder it hadn't buckled under the weight. A third of the table was dedicated to cakes and desserts, ice cream and jelly, meringues and tarts. All of which made me sick to my stomach. The vast expanse of food was such a shock to both me and John that we remained seated in the back carriage of the train and just stared. Panem rushed by behind us, showing the few acres of woodland that hadn't yet been claimed by the Capitol or a specific district. That was the best part, ideal hunting ground. Though there was no need for hunting in such a magnificent, luxurious area as this. John remained close to my chest, though his pained expression changed to one of wonder and slight confusion. Neither of us had seen this much food contained in a small area. 

Effie's voice rang out through the train, “Come on dears, you must be hungry. I hear they practically starve you down in thirteen. Terrible living conditions.” She turned to Sally Donovan, who was staring longingly at a pile of Belgian waffles. “Oh, child. Isn't the mahogany just to die for?” Sally didn't give her an answer, but instead piled her own plate high with waffles, burgers and potatoes cooked in various different ways (that seemed a little too excessive for my liking – potatoes were good enough alone, they didn't need breadcrumbs or frying.) Effie turned her nose up at Donovan's unsophisticated nature of having all three courses on one plate, but kept her mouth shut. “Poor dear, they must be treating you so terribly down there. Sherlock, John, join us.” John got up quite shakily and wiped all traces of tears from his cheeks. I decided I would take the more solitary, protesting way of going about this year's games. I allowed myself half of a waffle and refused to eat another bite for the rest of the day. The waffle was unlike anything I have ever eaten. It was perfect, sweet and cooked to the point where it was delicious and practically melted on my tongue. I hadn't even heard of waffles before now, but I needed to push the perfect dessert out of my mind. I needed to make my point. While John joined Donovan, I made my way over to Sarah, the other female tribute. She had also taken my approach and refused to eat, but covered it up with a simple, yet ineffective 'I'm not hungry'. Effie saw right through it, of course, but didn't press her for answers.  
“I'm going to die first. I'll step off that podium before the timer counts down to zero and they have to say in it.” she whispered, now fully aware that I was listening. “I don't want to watch all the death and bloodshed. I just want to die.” I nodded at this, knowing my attempts at stopping her were pointless. She was alone, no motivation to continue life. It was evident that she wouldn't survive the games. She had no hunting ability or experience with a weapon. She just existed, being kind to everyone and everything in her path. “That's a little excessive. You could join an alliance, make your time in there worthwhile.” I murmured, trying to say something positive. I couldn't find much to say on the topic though. “At least eat. You need to keep your metabolism up through training, even if you do nothing.” I paused for a while, just watching John. “Surely there's something, anything you have back there to make you want to stay.”


	3. Chapter 3

The train journey was tedious when John wasn't around. The few nights I had experienced so far were full of nightmares, horrible ways that John could inevitably die. The dreams I had were not of my own death or pain, but of John's. I was terrified, distraught at the thought of John's inevitable end, be it in the arena or as an old man in his bed. When I woke up screaming and thrashing about in the over-luxurious bed, John would be beside me with a sympathetic expression. He would always be so accepting, so helpful. His hand on my shoulder as I woke with a jolt was the one thing that stabilised me, keeping me anchored to reality. The easy reality of being on the train, not what was to follow. John didn't speak much when Sarah, Sally or Effie were around. But when he was with me he kept his voice soft, reassuring me that I would live. But I always tried to argue, I did not wish to live in a world lacking the John Watson I knew and had grown to love. I didn't wish to live in the Victor's Village without him by my side. Of course I never told him this, and instead just opted for a simple, “You'll live too,”. I feared the worst. I was convinced he would never love me back if I told him all the details of my feelings for him. If he turned me away, I would have nothing left to live for and follow Sarah's plan of jumping off the podium. It would be an easier way to go. I'd rather not watch him across the arena, the hatred in his eyes for his freak of a friend that couldn't handle being friends and had to have more. It was true. I was comfortable with John's friend, but that didn't stop me from aching to wrap my arms around him and kiss him to ease his worry.

Another night was over, causing me to wake up and snap my eyes open. They would focus and see the train in full detail before noticing John sat on the edge of the bed. “I heard you screaming again. Are you alright?” he whispered, looking over at me with the traces of tears down his cheeks. I nodded slightly and crossed my legs, bringing the blanket over myself to stop my shivering, which I soon learned was nothing to do with the cold. The train sped past countless fields and hedges before coming to a standstill at the station of one of the largest, most brightly lit areas I had ever seen in my life. Power plants and pylons littered the landscape, each giving off enough light and smoke to blind and choke a nation. The words running on the wall of the tunnel stated “District 5 – Supplying Panem with all the electricity and machinery needed for a brighter future” I read this aloud with an expression of pure distaste. The people I saw looked sunken, skinny and overworked. The work seemed primarily focused on factories and power plants, making the people victims of low pay and relentless, harsh and unforgiving work conditions. Men and women were scarred from machine parts and the man that greeted Effie as she stepped off the train wore overalls and carried a large scar running from his left eyebrow to the top of his collar bone. The accident he had been in seemed to have taken his eye from him too. I watched as two other tributes made their way onto the train behind ours and set off. They were still sad and teary-eyed from the the reaping. 

As the train began to move again John came over and sat beside me, taking my wrist to check my pulse, which was rapid from the nightmare I had just had. “What happened in this one?” he asked, his voice soft and understanding. I took a deep breath and began to explain the events of my nightmare. How John had volunteered for me instead and I had to sit back in my living room and watch him be taken from me. How the district two tributes had ripped him limb from limb with weapons made by their own hands. I told him how I had to remain strong while he was shipped back to thirteen in a body bag and disposed of. Nobody got a proper funeral unless they had enough money to organise one. John was just burned. By this point I was in a state close to hysterics, sobbing into my hands with my knees pulled up to my chest so there would be less of me for John to be disappointed with. I was supposed to be strong so I could be there for John. How was I supposed to keep him alive if I couldn't even stand to be alive myself? But John understood, like he always did. He understood and handed me tissues and rubbed my back until I calmed down, which was something I needed more than anything. I needed him to be alright with me, because if he thought I was pathetic, he wouldn't want to see me. He wouldn't want my help.

“I think we should split up when we get into the arena. That way if I get hurt, you won't have to watch.” John said after a while. The pause before he spoke was horrible, but the silence afterwards was deafening. Like he had just sliced me in two and left. It was agony. “No, John... You can't do that. I-... I need this. I can't do it alone. I need to protect you.” I was pleading, begging him to stay with me. I needed him there with me. If he wasn't, I'd be killed in the initial bloodbath. With nothing to protect, I had no purpose. “Okay... Okay...” John whispered, running a gentle hand through my hair. The sensation was calming, easy to take in. “I won't suggest that again, it was stupid. But we do have to run. We can't get caught up in the bloodbath. We can get what we need later on. We'll run and meet up later on in the games, yeah?” he offered, and I knew it was my only choice. I nodded hesitantly and blinked away a tear that was threatening to fall.

John got up and walked back to his bedroom, leaving me with the thought of having to get off that podium after the timer reached zero and leave John without a second glance. It could be days before I found him again. I'd have no indication of his health except from that cannon that would show me if he met his end. If John's cannon sounded, mine would a few minutes later. That was a silent vow. If John died, I died too.


	4. Chapter 4

'The Capitol – The heart of Panem.' Flashed past as we entered the big city. The train stopped at yet another station and we were greeted by a group of peacekeepers that lead John, Sally, Sarah and I to a vehicle where we were injected with tracking chips to ensure we never left the arena or training zone. The needle was large, about two millimetres in diameter as it plunged into my arm. I bit back a scream as the chip was inserted into the softer part of my forearm. My hand found John's through the restraints and squeezed it tightly while the tracker was put back into his arm too. He whimpered, and the sound shattered me. He sounded terrified, probably because we were on our way to the training area where we would be introduced to the other tributes, demonstrate our skills and determine whether or not we would join an alliance with other tributes. 

When the peacekeeper left, John squeezed my hand in return, allowing me to feel how nervous and sweaty he was getting. “I can't do this alone... I need help, Sherlock. I need... I need you to stay with me until we get out of that arena alive. Both of us, yeah? You're a better shot than me. You're more focused and better at hunting. You can help us both. I'll try my best to help us, but I can't do it alone.” he said softly, each word making my heart ache a little bit more. Sarah was sobbing and Sally was staring up at the wall with a blank expression. I had no way of comforting them from the restraints that kept me securely in the chair. A peacekeeper noticed us and walked over, separating our hands. I looked over at John and bit down on my lip, just noticing all the fear and worry in his eyes. “Stay with me. I'll keep you safe. We can get out of this. Mycroft's on my side, remember?” I assured him in a whisper, making sure nobody else could hear. “I made a deal with him.”

John looked back at me with a panicked expression. “You did what? Sherlock, there can only be one Victor. Your brother won't kill you off.” he whispered back.  
“I told him to do so if it was required.” I assured him, sitting back in my chair so the restraints didn't dig into my legs or torso. Again, John looked terrified. He didn't really have reason to. He would survive this over me. He'd live.   
“You told Mycroft to kill you? You're crazy. Sherlock, you're supposed to survive this. You're supposed to live and get out there alive. I can't lose you.” His voice was pleading now and it was seriously toying with my emotions.   
“I'm sorry, John, but it's a sacrifice you must make. In order to live, you need to let me go.” I murmured, looking straight ahead at the tributes from district three, who seemed to be snarling. Nobody stood a chance if they remained alive until there were few tributes left.  
“No, no... You're an idiot. God, Sherlock. You can't do that. You can't just throw yourself around and plan to die so I can get out of there. You don't get it, do you? You never will. Fucking hell. I can't lose you. I can't live without you. You're all I have left and if I get out of there without you I'll kill myself. I'll end it and Mycroft won't do a thing. Do you want to know why? Because you're everything to me, god damn it. I fucking love you, Sherlock. And if you're not there I-...” he cut himself off and shook his head, the tears running off his face. District three's tributes sniggered at John's weakness but I glared at them and let out a soft but threatening growl which shut them up promptly. “Calm down, John. Just-... Just calm down. We'll get through training and the TV broadcasts, which should be eventful, and see how it goes.

 

Savera Whishart was a charming woman. She was the new interviewer that had taken over the job that previously belonged to Caesar Flickerman, the flamboyant, blue haired gentleman that announced all the tributes and interviewed them from the 50th to the 104th Annual Hunger Games. Savera was every bit as lively as Caesar. She connected with the audience and made each of the tributes feel at home and able to talk to her comfortably. Her hair was never the same colour for more than two weeks, and right now it was a lovely shade of pastel blue. Her make-up was a perfect match, eyeshadow of the same shade fading out into a soft wing and lipstick in a contrasting shade of lilac. She wore coloured contacts, making her eyes seem the same colour of lilac as her lips, and a fitted lilac dress that hung at the length of her mid thigh on her left leg before dropping to the floor as it reached her right.

From watching the television, I got to know each tribute a little. Valeria Bodera from district four had her teeth filed into points, each as lethal as the next. Her fingernails had also been filed, serrated on one end so she could practically slice through any potential threats. She was brutal, seemingly ready to kill. She looked deadly. John's interview was a stark contrast. He looked terrified infront of the prying eyes of the Capitol's audience.   
“Is there anyone out there that you are trying to win for, John?” Savera asked softly, nodding to urge him to speak.  
“Watching at home? No...”  
“Oh come on, John. There's always a lucky lady. I know if I was back in thirteen I'd be one of the girls that would hang on to your every word. Aren't I right ladies?” A high pitched cheer went up from the audience, followed by a giggle from Savera. “Come on, nothing to be afraid of. She'd be lucky to have you.”  
“Winning for them would be useless if they were dead. Either way, there would only be one of us with a chance of survival.”  
Savera cocked her head in confusion. “Somebody from the games?”  
John nodded gently, hesitantly. My heart shattered under my ribs.   
“Oh, John...” her tone was soft, in a desperate attempt to comfort him. He should have played on it. Love stories meant attention from the Capitol. And attention meant sponsors, lots of them. If John had sponsors, he had a better chance of survival. When John was dismissed with an applause it was my turn to enter the stage. I had been decorated in a fitted black suit that my stylist said contrasted against my eyes perfectly. The purple shirt I wore made me feel more at home, with purple usually being my personal choice of colour. Again, the audience cheered and I smiled softly. The perfected smile I had developed to use when I felt terrible on the inside.  
“Sherlock Holmes, we have just had a rather remarkable story from your fellow tribute. You could try and compete with him, knock us all to the ground with another brilliant story. I'm sure you'll get a lot of attention, you're quite the looker.” She flashed me a smile and mine faded considerably.  
“I could, but I'd choose not to. John Watson is more than just a story. He is more than something to spin newspaper articles on and mock infront of the press. I'm sure what I am about to confess will be heavily frowned upon by the press, and possibly the potential sponsors. And for that, John, I am sorry. Attraction by people of the same sex is not considered normal in Panem's society, but then again, neither am I. John Watson, who I can safely say is listening right now, hello, by the way, is the one thing that I am willing to fight for in this brutal, hellish attempt at entertainment. If John fails to survive this, then I will fail too. And if he makes it, which will cost my own life, then I will die happy, knowing he would live. I would prefer for us both to live, however, but with the rules and such, that is highly unlikely.” During my speech, my voice was cold. Almost a threat to any of the other tributes that may decide that John and I were easy targets or something to mess with. I let out a sigh and looked into one of the cameras, “Jack Watson, I will protect your son.”

Savera sat rather dumbfounded until she was sure I had stopped talking. She sat up and smiled again. “Well, with that said, the training for the 125th Annual Hunger Games will commence tomorrow. Goodbye, Mr Holmes. I wish each tribute luck in the games, and I'm sure the audience does too.” Her tone was flustered and her voice was rushed. The Panem anthem played while a screen rose, revealing all the tributes, including a flushed John Watson. I walked up the stairs and joined them, standing beside John. “Did I do it right?” I whispered and he smiled up at me.   
“Of course you did, you tit.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any inaccuracies that may occur in this chapter - I'm not really good at describing things and I have no idea if this will end in disaster.

During the training sessions I had spent most of my time perfecting my use of a bow and arrow, now being able to shoot at further away, moving targets. I also developed the skill of knife throwing, which may prove useful in the arena. If these weapons were not made easily accessible for me, then I may not stand much of a chance. John, however had spent most of his time figuring out how to build traps out of natural resources so he could both hunt and injure tributes that may be a potential threat to his safety. Because of out reasonably good shared knowledge of hunting and basic survival, we decided we didn't need to waste our time in these areas and spend more time in traps and weapons.

When it was decided that we had been allowed enough time to develop our skills, we were all called into a room where the tributes would go in for scoring. Marina from district one started and it was later broadcasted that she had received a score of seven for her knowledge of poisonous plants and berries. As the tributes were entered one by one into the scoring hall, the scores remained roughly the same. The average was eight, but one male from district seven scored a ten for disguise. When I was called in, there was a shelf displaying various kinds of weaponry. Following the general rules, I picked up the bow and arrow and aimed it at the mannequin, that was suspended by a machine that caused it to dart about the room. I pulled back the arrow and released it, sending it two inches deep into the spot where the mannequins heart would be. Keeping the bow and set of arrows on my back, I picked up the three knives layed out side by side on the shelf. I threw each one, two landing in the torso of the dummy and one in the head. The gamemakers applauded me rather half heartedly and I left the room with a bow. I was sent to another room, where I waited for my score.

After a while I was taken back to the apartment I was staying in, accompanied by John. He hadn't spoke much of his time in the training centre and I didn't wish to pry.

Once I had changed out of my training clothes and back into the comfortable tshirt and trousers left by my stylist, Effie came bounding into the room, dragging John behind her. “I received your scores, boys!” she said excitedly, a wide grin on her perfectly painted gold lips. “Sherlock, dear. You have received a nine for your skill. And John...” she took him by the shoulders and pressed a brief kiss to his forehead before squeaking. “Darling, they gave you a ten! I spoke to the head gamemaker and he was absolutely blown away by those traps you made... And how you caught that dummy. Oh, Celia said you were so quiet she didn't know you were in the room until you introduced yourself. Watch out, dears. All the careers will want to join alliances with you two.” I cleared my throat and sighed. “If they know we've got good scores, they'll just try to get rid of us first. Leave the more vulnerable ones to crack so they can go in and kill them off.”

Effie frowned and faced me, “Sherlock, don't put yourself down... I'm still proud of you both.” she said and made herself scarce, presumably going to dress herself in whatever fine materials in vibrant colours she could find in her wardrobe. I walked over to John and pressed a kiss to his cheek, wiping at the light trace of gold on John's forehead. “I'm proud of you, you know.” I said softly. He took my hand and I smiled softly. “So is Effie, obviously.”  
“You did well too, not everybody gets a nine. And apparently they had that machine on the highest setting and you still hit the dummy. Even though no tribute runs that fast. You'll do well. We don't need allies, we can do it alone, I promise you.” he said, trying to reassure me. I wasn't disappointed in myself. I knew I would do well, and obviously the training had paid off. But I was scared. With John receiving the highest score among the tributes, he and the guy from seven would be the most hated and the highest targeted in the arena. People would want rid of them first, so if he didn't improve, John could be gone. He kissed me softly on the corner of my mouth and then went to lie down. He patted the area beside him and I climbed in, moving under the covers so I could get closer to John. He wound his arms around my chest and I rested my head against his shoulder. I could hear his heartbeat and it was comforting to me to know that he was still alive, and I would do everything in my power to keep it that way for as long as possible.

I never anticipated that the night I lost my virginity would be like this. I didn't expect it to be in the Capitol, in a room a few nights before we would be sent to our deaths in the Hunger Games arena. I didn't expect to lose my virginity to John, who was so careful to ensure I felt no pain whatsoever. He was so kind, so eager in dragging the most incredible sensations from me from the beginning to the build up of my climax. Each beat of my heart heated up the room that little bit more. He was gentle, beautiful. John's face during his release was a wonder, a sheen of sweat covering his body while he thrusted gently, encouraged by my soft mewls and moans of pleasure. The games was approaching swiftly, making each night with John more meaningful. Each night we would make love, tender touches until we both reached the climax we needed. Afterwards, we would keep close, he would hold me make sure I was alright. While we came down and got to the brink of sleep he would run his hands through my hair, stopping me from having any nightmares. 

I woke up in the middle of the night. Something wasn't quite right with John. He looked scared, thrashing about in his sleep and making little noises, like whimpers. I shook him gently, “John? John, love... I need you to wake up. You're having a nightmare.” John sat up quickly and grabbed me, gripping my arms tightly. His breathing was ragged, quick and unsteady. He was shaking and covered in a cold sweat. “Sherlock-... Oh god...” he choked, closing his eyes tightly. I felt a pang in my chest and held him tightly, gripping him and rocking him slowly. I shushed him, stroking a hand through his hair gently. “It's alright... It's fine, love. I've got you. I'm here.” I whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. After a few minutes, his shaking began to cease, slowing down to a few gentle spasms. He exhaled loudly and leaned into me. “You-... They killed you... It was Grant from district three. The one with the spear. He got you and I-... Sherlock, I can't...” I squeezed his hand and held onto it as tight as I could, “I'm here. I'm here, I won't let you go.” I promised, keeping him as close as I could. “I promise you, John. When we get into that arena tomorrow, I'll find some basic supplies and get out of there. You have to do the same thing, for me. Please. Stay with me, we'll find a signal. Anything, I just can't be away from you. Not for too long. I love you.” John nodded weakly and relaxed against me, just allowing me to stroke through his hair until he fell into another gentle sleep. I kept awake beside him, just shielding his body with my own. “I love you...” I whispered into his hair, just listening to his deep breaths.


	6. Chapter 6

During the trip to the arena nobody said a word. My hand remained over John's, trying to comfort him and stop him from shaking. Once the vehicle had landed on the island where the arena was located, we were each ushered to different rooms. John and I were in rooms next to each other and I could hear his panicked gasps through the wall. “John, breathe...” I whispered, trying to listen to any signs that he had calmed down.   
“I can't... Shit, Sherlock. I love you... God, I might die-...” His voice was weak through the wall, but I could tell from the sounds that he was leaning on the same side I was.   
“Don't say that. Okay, five more minutes until we get in there. We'll find shelter and run, yeah? We'll live, love. I promise.” I assured him, hearing the bell that signalled us to step onto the platform that would bring us up into the arena. “I love you.” I said before stepping onto the platform.

When it rose, I was exposed to the harsh sunlight. The arena was moderate temperature, almost everyday conditions. Though there had to be a catch. The area we were stood in was a clearing in a seemingly vast area of forest, the cornucopia presenting various weaponry and supplies on a slight incline. Turning my head, I noticed a backpack to my right with a sleeve of knives. I caught John's eye as the timer began to count down from thirty to zero. In the final five seconds, I watched the panic on Sarah's face. She hadn't yet stepped off the podium and I silently begged her to stay on it, giving her a pleading look. John was trying to remain strong, I could see it in his eyes. He seemed to have his sights set on a backpack behind him. The others seemed to be focused on the cornucopia, the weapons there that would help their survival.  
Four.  
Three.  
Two.  
One.  
Tributes stepped off their podiums, making a beeline for the cornucopia. In no time Pastel from district eight had acquired a spear and had killed off Nicholas from district four. I watched John run into the forest, gripping the backpack on his way. I took the backpack and sleeve of knives and ran after him, ensuring no other tributes saw our whereabouts. Sally had been running when she was hit with a knife, a forceful blow to the back of the head that sent her to the floor. Another tribute ran and took the knife, desperate for any sort of weapon. Sally was the fourth fallen tribute, one of the unfortunate ones to have died in the bloodbath. Phillip Anderson, a man from district ten that had began talking to Sally had tripped the tribute that had thrown the knife and attempted to kill him. He then ran after Sally, trying to bring her back. He looked distraught. The rest was missed by me as I ran through the forest, trying to locate John.

“Sherlock?”

I looked up into the tree and sighed in relief, scaling it quickly. John was already making quick progress on a trap that he would lower down from the tree and hopefully snag an animal or tribute that had be unlucky enough to cross the path. “It's alright... It's okay. We'll stay here until the cannons sound.” I whispered, bringing him close to my chest and running a hand through his hair. From here, we could see the top of the cornucopia and the remnants of the bloodbath. It was calming down now, a lack of tributes. From my position in the tree I could see Sarah, the shy girl from my district, going in to grab whatever she could, knives, ropes, food supplies. She was smart. She'd make it out. “I need a bow.” I murmured, watching the tributes disperse throughout the arena. Most had gone towards the east, while John and I were in the southwest corner. The tip of the cornucopia was facing north going off the position of the sun. I knew where I was. John gripped my hand tightly, “Don't you dare leave me.” he whispered, and I nodded. I'd go when it was better, no potential threat. I could find one, or steal one from a fallen tribute. However, my thoughts made me despise myself. Ten minutes into the games and I had become almost animalistic, contemplating stealing weaponry from the dead. It was unfair. But I needed to fight so I could keep John alive. John was all that mattered to me.

When the cannons sounded, I winced. Twenty eight tributes killed in the bloodbath, leaving twenty in the arena. Included in the twenty were me and John and Sarah. The anthem sounded, 'Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever' written under the names and districts of the fallen tribute. Every tribute from district six were down, likewise with district eight. John was shaking beside me. “We're still here, and they aren't... I talked to Lucia from twelve. She was nice... Not very strong. She scored a four, quite weak... She was nice. She didn't deserve to die.” John whispered, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. He held me tightly as the projection faded from the ceiling of the arena, the large domed surface reinforced with layers upon layers of thick glass and plastic so it was practically indestructible.   
“Nobody deserves to die, John. But it happens. If I could stop it, I would.”


	7. Chapter 7

John and I awoke to the sounds of shuffling in the dense forest beneath us. One tribute was below us, armed with a spear. Recalling scoring, I remembered her using that as her strength. She scored a nine, above average. I held John tightly and swung my legs up, making sure we were completely hidden. One small sound and it could potentially be over for us. I could see it on her face. She was afraid and paranoid, keeping her spear in her hands at all times. There was no way of calmly revealing myself and asking for mercy. I wouldn't be given it regardless. I was one of the main targets. They all wanted me gone, and if she killed me, she would be one of the desired tributes for an alliance. Likewise if she killed John, because then I would be at a considerable disadvantage, both emotionally and physically. My mind processed the events of the past few days in the games. Had it been a week? Possibly... Probably. I had no idea who was dead and who wasn't. I just knew most were. The girl, who I now recognised as Brianna from district eleven, was making some form of a shelter beneath the tree John and I were in. John's breathing picked up in panic and I held him close to my chest, begging for him to remain silent, not give our game away. 

Something moved in the tree, a jabberjay that had just decided to fly up and out of the tree, flying right past me. I hissed in panic and John froze. The girl looked up and saw us, narrowing her eyes in anger, then widening them in panic. “Thirteen...” she whispered, picking up her spear and aiming it at us. I couldn't be sure which one of us she planned to spear. I gripped John's hand and bit down on my lip. I had used the last of my arrows on hunting and my knives were in my bag which was in the other tree. I couldn't get my knives in the fear of leaving John vulnerable and alone. But it was useless anyway, Brianna had already thrown the spear and it was making a beeline towards my heart. I closed my eyes and gripped John's hand, knowing death was imminent. Hopefully I would go quickly and John would win. It would be painless that way and John would get better in time. I waited a few seconds before opening my eyes when I felt no pain. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be. Painless. It only really registered to me when I felt John's grip on my hand fall limp.

I looked down at him, gripping the spear that had punctured his chest. He held it limply as the blood began to stain his t-shirt. I cried out, feeling the tears run down my face. I swatted them away, not allowing them to blur my vision. I needed to look at John. I needed to be able to see him, the last glimpse of his life. “John...” I whispered, meeting his eyes. I could tell that he was beginning to lose focus. He squeezed my hand weakly and I choked out a sob, just running my hand through his hair. “I've got you... I'm here. You're safe, yeah? Safe and sound... I've got you.” I whispered, aware that my voice was shaking. I sounded pathetic, but there were times in a person's life when pathetic was allowed, and this was most definitely one of them. He let out a shuddering sigh and looked at me, watching me as I leaned in and kissed his cheek. His body was rapidly losing heat and blood. “Take it out-...” he breathed, and I did so. I ensured his wound was covered before throwing the spear at Brianna. It killed her instantly, yet I felt no satisfaction when the cannon sounded. She had hurt my John, but she didn't deserve to die. Not like this. Nobody deserved to die like this. I shushed John, just kissing him, his cheeks, his forehead and his lips to keep him focused on something. “Talk to me-... Please, John. Just keep talking. I'll fix this, I swear.” I was begging now, an emotional mess waiting for John to reply. He smiled weakly. “You'll have a good life-... A nice, happy one. You'll live for a long time, Sherlock. Until you're old and tired. You'll still be absolutely gorgeous... I wish I'd be around to see it...” he managed, keeping his strength focused on gripping my hand. I felt my insides clench and churn at this, each word attacking me like a stab to the heart. “You will see it, John... You'll see it all. We'll get old and tired together, I promise you-... We'll get old and go on holidays... You can make jam and I'll keep bees...”

“I love you...” the voice was shaky and strained, the grip getting looser and looser until I was holding it there myself. “No-... No, don't give up now. Please...” I was a mess, an absolute trainwreck clinging to John as if my life depended on it. My life did depend on it, and it always would. “John, I love you... I love you, I-...” I was cut off by the sound of a cannon and curled in on myself, just holding John to my chest. I continued to hold him until Savera Whishart and Mycroft were at the bottom of the tree. Savera held a plaque in her hands. 'Sherlock Holmes - 125th Annual Hunger Games Victor.'

I didn't care. I didn't want to be victor. I didn't want to get out of this tree, leave John behind and collect my plaque. I needed to stay with John, be with him until I died next to him. I needed him. I couldn't live without him.  
“Sherlock... I need you to come down. I understand that it may be hard, but the vehicle needs to come and collect Mr Watson.” Mycroft's voice was sympathetic and kind. I despised it. I let out a soft sigh and pressed a final kiss to John's forehead before moving away from him. I slid the gold band off his wrist, a gift from his father when he was young. I'd return it to Jack. He would probably appreciate the sentiment, and if he didn't want it, then I'd keep it. I made my way down from the tree and closed my eyes as the peacekeepers took John away.   
“Sherlock, congratulations on your victory.” Savera muttered, but I could tell the sadness in her voice. I replied with a sigh. “Just stop it.” I whispered, following Mycroft out of the forest and into another vehicle where we made our exit and left the arena.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, would you look at that. We're nearing the end and it's a rollercoaster of sadness. Apologies for the length of the next chapter. I didn't want to waffle on and on in some sort of sad monologue so I cut it quite short- enjoy~


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant it, this would be short. This is somewhat of an epilogue, following Sherlock's life afterwards. It isn't long and I hope it isn't too feelsy for you. Here we go~

The week long train journey back to district thirteen was terrible. Being dragged from the clutches of sleep from a terrible flashback of John's death. I would see it when I fell asleep, always there. It never stopped, like a continuous loop. I didn't eat, regardless of whatever Effie said. She said I would catch my death of starvation, but I couldn't care less. It would just bring me to John faster. They were careful to rid my carriage of sharp objects courtesy of Mycroft's requests. He knew me. And he knew I couldn't live without John. I hated to wake up from a nightmare and not have John beside me. Waking up was only a fraction better than being asleep. All I could see was John, everywhere I went. He was in the trees as they passed through the window. He was in the grass. I remembered looking out of the window with him, commenting on the areas we saw, solitary houses in the fields that I promised John we would live in when we won, we would live there as victors. Oh, how wrong I was. Sometimes when I drifted off, I would remember those conversations and visualise how it would be. John and I as old men in a shared cottage. He would make jam and I would keep bees. The perfect life.

He was in the clouds that we would look up at from our tree in the arena. He was in the rain that fell over us, supplied us with the water we needed for that one night John had run out of water. He was everywhere, in my dreams, in my nightmares... In my heart? No... That would eventually destroy me. 

We arrived at district thirteen and I was greeted by Jack and Harry Watson who both nodded at me. Harry had obviously been crying, and I could tell Jack was close. I took the gold band off my wrist and handed it to him, keeping it rested in my open palm. He curled my fingers back around it, giving me a watery smile. “Thank you, Sherlock.” he whispered, shaking my other hand. “Thank you for keeping him happy through that. Me and Harry, we've got you. If you need anything, you've got us. Just come to us for help, we'll be happy to.” I nodded and was escorted by Effie into victor's village, where they expected me to continue my bleak existence without John.

They expected me to continue my existence for more than three days, but then again. They knew it was going to happen eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, thank you all for getting this far. This was written over the space of a few weeks, despite me posting it all on here over the course of one day. Like I said, I posted this first on wattpad but my intentions changed and I wished to post it on here too. It has the same title as the one on wattpad too if you'd like to read it on there (Gosh, stupid suggestion). Thank you for reading my work and I hope you all have a nice day (Or night, or whatever <3)


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